Page 70 of The Language of Love

“No.” She spoke without hesitation. “No, I don’t want to go. And I’m not angry. I’m just—”

“Embarrassed?”

“Terribly.”

“Please, if you can do one thing for me—don’t be embarrassed. It gave me a great deal of pleasure.” Almost too bloody much, another ten or fifteen seconds and he would have spent in his pantaloons.

Her face, which had just been coming back to its normal color, turned crimson again.

She gave an abrupt nod.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, forcing himself to sound jovial, which wasn’t easy with his cock still as stiff as a barge pole, “but I’m famished.”

***

Annis wouldn’t have believed that she could ever again look Henry in the eye.

But he went about setting out their food, and then serving her a plate in such a matter-of-fact fashion that she was soon wondering if she’d imagined the prior twenty minutes.

“Mm, this is delicious,” he said, drawing her attention away from her own plate, which she’d been staring at unseeingly

He smiled at her, a chunk of juicy ham on the tines of his fork. Instead of putting it in his mouth, he held it out to Annis. “Try some.”

Her lips had already parted in shock at the oddly intimate offer, so it was easy enough to lean forward and take the savory bit from the fork.

His nostrils flared and his eyelids drooped, his gaze on her mouth as she chewed, the desire emanating off him making her feel as if she were the most attractive woman in the world, rather than a scrawny, long-in-the-tooth nymphomaniac who’d just made the two-backed beast with his hand.

“Good?” he asked.

She swallowed again and nodded.

“I brought plenty—so eat up. Because after lunch we’re going to do what you wanted to do and explore the folly and every inch of the grounds.”

Annis forced herself to eat while Henry kept up a stream of light, amusing conversation about the Season, sharing anecdotes about the faux earl and making her smile.

By the time they’d finished lunch three-quarters of an hour later—when he began to put away the dishes and pack up the remaining food—she could finally contribute something. “I’ll clean up, it’s the least I can do.”

“I was supposed to be your servant today, and you a lady of leisure.”

“I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He gave an enormous yawn, and then his darkly tanned cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, that was extremely rude—and absolutely no reflection on the company. I’m afraid it’s difficult to get a decent night’s sleep these days.”

“Why is that?”

“Rotherhithe House is as cold as a tomb and all the furniture and bedding is ancient, hard as rocks, and moldering.”

“His lordship has no plans to make the house more livable?” she asked, not looking at him as she re-wrapped the thick slices of ham that were left over.

“I believe it is his intention to sell it after this year.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Why do you say that?”